


Discarded

by Athanasa



Series: Turncoat [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Mental Health Issues, POV Second Person, Soldiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 01:19:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18681199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athanasa/pseuds/Athanasa





	Discarded

**Discarded**

_If your **unit** is so important, why aren’t you with them?_

The words, practically spat at you like a viper’s venom, echo around your head. Acidic, yellow bile in your thoughts. They’re wrong. They don’t know, they don’t understand, they don’t _want_ to understand. And yet, despite that, despite being civilians who had never served, they had the gall to tell you that your experience and understanding of what it was like as a soldier was _wrong_ , incorrect.

They understand _nothing_. The righteous fire flickers slightly in your chest, spreading a feeling of warmth to your limbs even as you shudder, wedged into a corner of the darkened room. A unit is what you chose as your unit. Those you hold close, those you will protect. Those who you trust, and you hope trust you in return. It’s a fluid thing, with levels. The temporary on-the-field, and the deeper trusting friendship and camaraderie.

Up until then the words of finality were said, they were part of your unit. For all they were civvies, you’d fought beside some of them. You cared for them. How could they not see it? Your unit _is_ that important, and you _were_ with them! _They_ were part of it! Were. No longer.

_I don’t care about silencing you or not._

Time and again, she had encouraged you to treat her as an equal. To trust her. To not be afraid. To stand up for yourself, to make your own choices. But when you do? When you _dared_ to treat her like another of the Unit, with playful mockery like she heaps upon you? If you dared oppose her? The hammer descended swiftly and without mercy. Your fingers clench around your mug of whisky, knuckles white as they grip the wood. Another gulp. It burns as it goes down, stinging your eyes. A burn that would have been uncomfortable not so long ago, but now it’s familiar. Comforting. Your collar feels damp, but – a blessing or a curse – the numbed scars of your cheeks feel nothing from your eyes. The flavour of cheap numbness in your mouth dulls the faint taste of salt through your open cheek.

You remember how you and she had discussed what you were. She’d said a puppy. Hah. Bullshit. A stray dog, more like. Battered, scarred, but still part of a pack. If lacking a master. Still remembering the old tricks, and the old scars. Remembering the patterns and motions to avoid, running on instinct. Who to trust. Who to avoid. Did she set off alarm bells early? Maybe, but that could be tainted retrospective views… no, she did. And the worked to soothe them. Repeated that she was different to the ones before. Repeated it like a mantra. Demanded that you believe it.  
You had been a fool to believe it eventually.

_You just take and take and give nothing back. How about how I feel?_

You open your eyes. In the dark fog of the room and your mind, you gaze idly at your left leg. Pale wood, fused just below your knee to the flesh in a mangled knot of scar tissue. It’s due another lick of oil, but for now, you don’t care. Your mind is a tangled mass of writhing bloody maroon and bile yellow fears, confusion and anxieties.

You had never, ever aimed to take what wasn’t offered. Initially, you had tried to decline – but that had not been an option, as you were told you _would_ be helped. So – nervously – you had accepted. You take no joy in being broken like this. Feeling the hairline cracks of your mind shift and scrape against each other in times of stress. You want to be whole again, or at least less… brittle. You want to be helped, helped to help yourself. When the walls close in, you don’t turn away from the hand reaching out to you.

They had made it clear, you thought, that there would be no debt in this. Another error. Debt upon debt, piling up on you. Unknown, unseen, unfelt, until she chose to call upon it. A trap, closing about you.

Looking back, you aren’t entirely sure what she wanted. What sort of… ‘something’ back she needed. Did she want you to help her? How? Naively, you had assumed that for her - like you - helping was enough. Helping was its own reward. However long it took, to be patient, to help, to heal, to nurture. You _need_ that comfort, with Cyrus away, possibly not ret-- _no, don’t think that_.

Maybe that was the problem. You had looked for one like Cyrus, painting her in a similar light for all she was nothing like him. Because you wanted her to be like him. Accepting, without judging, without trying to force you to change. Allowing you to take your time, not _demanding_ trust.

Maybe she wanted - needed? - you to be something you were not. Did you fail her?

_A unit doesn’t get remembered without its commander._

That’s not the point. How could she think that’s the point? Did she genuinely believe you were that sort of person? Searching for fame, to be remembered? It’s not about being remembered, it’s about belonging. Being part of a group, having some sort of anchor. And besides, a commander is nothing without their unit.

To an extent, a commander isn’t even part of the unit. They are distant, remote. A different creature to a leader, who _is_ part of the unit. Sometimes, they overlap. And a good leader is one who serves the unit as much as the unit follows them. This you believe with absolute certainty. It is the value that had driven you through your own time as Decurio.

They understand _nothing_.

_If you poison her mind, I will kill you._

And just like that. Not only discarded, rejected, abandoned, but _threatened_. By someone you had trusted. By someone who had promised not to hurt you. You aren’t naive enough to think that would protect you from everything, but nothing prepared you to the sudden… discarding, followed by threats on your life. All for standing your ground on what it meant to be part of a unit, all for standing up for yourself. Were you standing up for yourself? The angry flame flickers within you, followed by another wave of shaking. Maybe? Maybe you… hadn’t caught something. Some sign, that you’d been warned earlier. Some missed communication.

Worse… you believe she'd do it. Like that, she'd use her magic to bring you down. Cripple you. She knows how - she knows your leg is a weak spot. She knows you have issues, things that break you. She knows she knows _she knows_. Fear, cold and sickening, slithers its way from the depths of your mind and down your limbs, setting hairs on end.

_I will never hurt you. You will be like family to me._

Family. Oh, you hadn’t believed that. They’d talked about how families fought beside each other, protected each other, would die for one another. Stupid. A nice idea, but one that just proves your point! A unit is family, one linked by blood spilt rather than blood ties. How many families have you seen, fighting side by side in the field? None. Or, none in the organised ranks of the military.

They understand _nothing_.

_I am forgiving. I allowed her to strike me, and I’ll still help and forgive her._

Their words were lies, or genuinely believed, only to be forgotten in a moment of frustration and rage. Or, perhaps, they only applied to another – and not to you.

A puppy implies innocence, something you lack. Malleability. Wide, open eyes. Ready to be taken advantage of. And yet, they took stray as meaning rabid, lashing out. Looking back, and to how they took the ideas of a unit… maybe it’s all clear. Maybe you should have seen this coming. Kept your distance, avoided the honeyed words and poisoned offers of help.

Like a rabid dog, the moment you dared to bark out of turn - to stand up for your _beliefs_ , what you _knew_ , the damn _truth_ \- you were thrown back to the street. Worse, she threatened to put you down.

_Whatever affiliation you and I have is over._

And then you were discarded like a broken toy. No longer interesting. In favour of a newer model, or perhaps – more accurately – a newer project. One more responsive. One that was easier to shape. It isn’t envy that curls in your gut like a heavy, rusting chain of misery. It’s a sense of… abandonment? You’d known them Less than a month, surely. They said they’d help. They’d tried to help, although they had been impatient and rushed, it had felt like they cared… And that mattered.

With Cyrus away, you needed that care. You still need it. Right now, you need it more than ever. You need him. The warmth, the feeling of protection. Arms around you, the gentle ruffle of your hair from his breath. His scent, the rhythm of his breathing. You miss him.

Love and care are the sweetest drugs. They’re addictive. Sometimes, you go without them for so long you forget how much you can crave them. But when you find them again, the need returns stronger than you’d ever remembered it.

The parting emotions of this memory are:  
Fear, anger, confusion, betrayal, worry, uncertainty


End file.
